Masking The Past
by girl in the glen
Summary: A mysterious mask and a woman with a past lead to questions and answers when danger looms. Posted for picfic on Section VII at LJ.


Three men sat around the big round table, each of them determined to ferret out whatever clues they might find on the object they were scrutinizing.

The blond was the first to speak.  
"Do we know where it came from?"

The older of the three looked up at the question, his expression one of consternation.  
"I was rather hoping that you, Mr. Kuryakin, might have some knowledge of it. Your uncanny knowledge of the most obscure things would be useful right about now."  
That comment was followed by a harrumph of singular clarity.

Napoleon Solo, the third man in the room, leaned back in his chair and yawned. It was an unintentional act, one he immediately regretted.  
"Are you bored, Mr. Solo?"  
Alexander Waverly was, himself, tired of looking at the infernal mask, but it held answers and they must be discovered. And soon, the clock was ticking.

Solo straightened up, catching a sidelong glance from his partner. Illya Kuryakin continued to study the elaborately decorated mask, but he was coming up empty.

"I am afraid I have no more idea of its origins than either of you, Sir. Although it could be Russian, it has no particular markings that would identify it as such. Without a distinct element of design…'  
The Russian shrugged his shoulders in an uncharacteristic sign of defeat.

"It might as well be from Saks Fifth Avenue as Tsarist Russian, I'm afraid."

Napoleon had a glimmer of an idea just then. If they couldn't manage to find proof of the mask's lineage, then perhaps they could lure out an expert or two. It was no secret that several of the royal family had made it to America ahead of the Revolution's bloody reprisal against all things noble. If they were to advertise the mask as a relic of the old regime, it might just draw out a retired member of the royal family.  
"Say, I think I might have something…"

After sharing the idea it was agreed upon by the three men from UNCLE that they would host an event at Sotheby's in hopes of drawing out someone who could positively identify the mask. Of course it fell to Illya to play host, for obvious reasons.

On the night of the festivities many of New York's wealthiest people were in attendance, not the least among them one of those whom UNCLE had hoped would respond. She was not one of the immediate family to the slain royals, but as a cousin she had viewed most of the treasures contained in the famed Alexander Palace where her father's cousins, Nicholas II lived and was, eventually, imprisoned before his death.  
Illya saw her approach, a reserved and elegant woman of an undetermined age. She stood back and examined the mask from several feet away before coming closer. It was obvious from her reaction that she recognized the red and black mask, and Napoleon was at her side to strike up a conversation.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I wonder who might have worn it."

The woman nodded, seemingly unwilling at first to speak. She looked up at the young man next to her, and was reminded of another handsome man from so many years ago.  
"My cousin's wife wore it once, but only once. She said that it was too hot, too heavy to be worn with elegance. It was never worn by anyone else. How sad that it survived and she did not."

Illya was within hearing of that comment, and his heart lurched at the sentiment. No matter how things looked from a philosophical perspective, it was another blot on his country's history that so much bloodshed had been necessary to secure the path to communism. He stepped forward, anxious to speak with her but with a modicum of dread concerning this woman's reaction to him.

"Madame, I am Illya Kuryakin, at your service."  
He bowed, extending to her a courtesy that would have been frowned upon by his Soviet superiors.

"A Kuryakin? Here in New York…'  
She was transported a second time to her youth and another blond to whom this young man bore some slight resemblance.  
"And is it you who have brought the mask here, young man?"

Illya nodded.  
"Da, and with it a mystery. The world is in need of unlocking what this mask conceals. Can you… will you help us?"

She looked first at Illya and then to Napoleon. Two handsome young men and a relic from her youth. She felt a sudden surge of optimism that hadn't risen up in her for decades.

"We will speak only English. It is too painful for me to venture too far back into the years of my youth, of the Russia I knew.'  
She smiled then, a wisp of memory urging her on.

"My name is Catherine, after the Empress. The mask does indeed hold secrets, but none that can be exhumed for the purposes you have in mind."

Napoleon let that sink in, cutting his eyes to see how his partner was reacting. Illya understood her reluctance to spoil her memory of the mask, of what it represented to her. Perhaps she might be persuaded, however.  
"Madame … Catherine … We have been told that the mask has a message in it that can be used to stop an organization that would like to topple every government, every peace loving nation. I have not been able to break into its secrets. Is there anything that you can tell us?"

Illya was so sincere, his hopes for some good coming out of this encounter with his nation's past, that Catherine was moved by his earnest declaration.  
"The mask has no special messages, no powers. It was simply a fanciful adornment for the wife of the emperor. In those days of wealth and indulgence, something like this mask represented the limitless pursuit of pleasure, that is all. I fear that you have been misled."

Napoleon heaved a sigh that rivaled a spurned lover. What had they expected? It was a wild goose chase from the get go.

Illya was not as quick to give up, however.  
"Are you certain? For what event did the Empress wear this mask, do you recall?"

Catherine considered that, trying to remember the occasion at which she had seen her cousin's wife wearing the beautiful mask. She had been so young then…  
"It was a ball for Archduke of Austria, the one who…"

Catherine and the two UNCLE agents all stopped in their tracks.

"It isn't what's in the mask, it's where it landed in history. THRUSH is going to try and assassinate another Austrian, only this time…"

Illya was quick to pick up on Napoleon's train of thought.

"This time it's going to look as though the Soviets are responsible. It's an assassination and the intention is …"

At once all three of them spoke the dreaded word.

"War"

This revelation set things in motion, things that led to the THRUSH responsible for the assassination plot. Foiling it was a matter of a few hours, thanks to Alexander Waverly's network. Once again the world was saved from a horrendous THRUSH plot that might well have led to a third world war.

Catherine was allowed to keep the mask; a memento of a life hidden from view, but not from her new admirers. Napoleon and Illya made it a point to see her whenever possible, something that the aging aristocrat found both charming and rejuvenating.

As for Illya and Napoleon, they wondered about her stories of the handsome blond who had escorted her to that ball so many years ago.


End file.
